


On Defeating Reality

by factorielle



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-11
Updated: 2010-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/factorielle/pseuds/factorielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Anyone/Izumi, against a hotel window</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Defeating Reality

The point of fantasies, Izumi realized on a field trip in his second year of high school, is perhaps that no matter how awesome they are, they're better left as such.

In other words, underwater sex Does Not Work no matter how much you've thought about it. Especially with bathing suits in the way. (Nor do affairs with English teachers, but Hanai is best left unaware that the entire team knows about that.)

So when the time comes, Izumi doesn't think much about the irony of standing in the dark, pressed against a window on the highest floor of the Hilton Los Angeles Airport.

By himself. In a room that, incidentally, he shares with Sakaeguchi.

Which is all due to Tajima and his weird idea to buy lottery tickets to go watch college baseball in America. Although some of the blame should be laid on Abe too, for putting such a fuss at the airport when they missed their connecting flight back to Narita that the company actually set them up here for the night, with their utmost apologies for the delay.

(It's better than sleeping on a bench in the airport. But _still_.)

He's never figured out why the image appeals to him, in two years of occasional poking at his thought patterns. Abe can say what he wants about conditioning, but it's just _there_. Standing here in the dark, looking at the airport's lights in the distance, Izumi still doesn't know why the thought gets him hot, and doesn't care.

He undoes his fly with no urgency, intent on taking his time. Takes himself in hand gently, stroking to tease rather than to create some immediate need. Out there, lights flicker in and out, flecks of a thousand lives that aren't affected by the way he's making himself hard, the long casual strokes he tends to default to. He wonders if someone else in his field of vision is doing the same thing, thinking the same thoughts, and sends him (or her, or maybe them) a mental _I know what you're doing_, just in case.

It's different from usual, somehow, doing it like this. There's a kind of excitement he doesn't find when alone in his bed, a thrill and energy that may have to do with the unusal settings, oh and also _winning Koushien_ two weeks ago and having had no time to 'celebrate' properly since. Sighing softly, Izumi spares a hand to push pants and boxers lower down, even as he keeps stroking himself and staring at the world outside.

"That's hot," a familiar voice whispers right behind him, and he can almost feel the weight of the body behind him, right there, even when they're not touching. Izumi never stops stroking, smirks instead, stretches his back.

"Put a hand in, then," he offers, and in his mind's eye he can see the predatory smile that spreads on Tajima's face right before his hand comes up to Izumi's face from behind, brushing against his jaw, his lips. Izumi doesn't require more prompting to lick the fingers offered to him, base to top, flicking his tongue against every blister. He moans contentedly when a fingertip is thrust between his lips, and sucks at it, eager. His eyes refocus to let him watch himself, reflected in the window, and it's obvious that it's not a couple of fingers he wants to suck, and when he's putting on that kind of show to whoever outside can see him, surely they won't mind that he looks really fucking wanton.

Screw taking it slow, he decides, and the fingers slide out, taking no time to trail down his body before one is being pushed inside his ass. It makes him groan, and the second makes him shiver and the third, god, there are no words for how it's making him feel, and this is right, this is exactly how he's wanted it to be and he rocks back against the penetration, eyes once again caught on the lights outside. Given enough time he could come just like that, even when his hand has fallen away from his cock sometime between the first and second finger, but that doesn't feel right anymore, when what he wants now is to be overwhelmed, fucked hard right here against the window, and wouldn't it be nice if...

"Still room for one more," someone says and he's honestly not sure who it is until they're sitting up against the window, lips right in place at the tip of his cock, and far be it from Izumi to question. "Suck it," he orders, or maybe begs. Mizutani complies, takes him without further ado, and soon he's slurping down Izumi's cock like it's the tastiest possible treat. "You love that, don't you," Izumi growls, his hips twitching despite the effort not to move. There's no response, only more pressure all around him, forcing him to close his eyes for a second, just the time to remember how to breathe.

And then he can't take it anymore, the fingers that have gone still inside him nowhere near enough, so he says "fuck me," and then says it again and again, and "fuck, Tajima, faster, give it to me" and "yeah, just like that, keep sucking my dick" until he's jerking back and forth between the two sources of pleasure and babbling, no idea what he's saying except nonverbal encouragements for more, harder, faster, every heavy breath making a cloud on the window, and his eyes glaze over when he comes, making him blind as he shoots his load between Mizutani's lips.

Izumi stays in place for a couple of minutes afterward, eyes closed and forehead pressed to the window, giving his skin time to cool back down. When he sighs and steps away, he finds, as expected, several strips of cum splattered on the glass.

He takes a moment to consider which two fingers are clean enough to pull up his pants, and stumbles to the bathroom to wash his hands, peering at himself in the mirror, flush on his cheeks and hair in disarray. Tajima and Mizutani, really? The deal with his subconscious is that it gets to wander off and bring anyone it wants home, and _he_ gets to point and laugh over breakfast. It's rescued afair number of orgasms over the years, because if he ever stopped to think about the unlikely people he jerks off to sometimes, he'd probably be stuck in a permanent state of blue balls.

Then again, as unexpected as this combination seems, he has to admit it works exceedingly well. Wow. Something to think about later, certainly, but for now he's more concerned with covering it up.

A quick search of the bathroom yields no sponge and less window-cleaning liquid, so he grabs a handful of toilet paper instead.

He's stepping out the door when the lights turn on in the bedroom.

It's Tajima.

For real, this time, fingers idly playing with the cardkey his imaginary self never bothered with.

"Hey, you wanna come to our room? Everyone's there, you're the last one who--" he stops, frowns slightly, and makes an instant sweep of the room before Izumi has the time to get between him and the incriminating window. Obviously that's what he focuses on, and he's there in half a dozen steps.

And _then_, what does the idiot do but take a swab and bring it to his mouth.

"Oh," he says, as though he's just now figured out what it is. "That's why it smells like this in here."

It's a shame the windows don't open, because that would be a convenient way to get rid of a body. His own or Tajima's; Izumi isn't picky. He doesn't comment, and does his best to clean the window in a casual way, while the officially recognized masturbation addict seems to have no intention to let him die of embarrassment in peace.

"I always wanted to do it in a place like this," Tajima volunteers as Izumi wonders if he isn't just spreading the mess further. He keeps silent, but it's not as though Tajima ever needs incentive. "It's like being outdoors, except it's warmer and nobody can make you stop. But people can still catch you at it, so it's really hot, you know?"

"If you say so," Izumi says tonelessly. But of course he _knows_. Isn't that what was on his mind the whole time, whether someone could see him? And wouldn't that explain why it included people who actually might walk in?

In fact, a couple minutes later and Tajima _would_ have walked in on him, seen him and heard him moan his name, and _then_ what would have happened?

Izumi shakes his head at himself and declares his work done, before going back to the bathroom to toss the soiled paper in the toilet.

"Are you done?" Tajima demands. "Everyone is waiting for us, you know!"

"Yeah, yeah." He grabs his own cardkey from the stand and follows Tajima out the door in his socks; the rooms are all in the same corridor.

Tajima is a couple of steps ahead, and for a split second, when Izumi glances at him, he sees a tiger. The thought jolts him, but as he follows he starts to see where it came from. Tajima has always moved with the assurance of one who knows he is among the best, and he's now far past the awkward part of his growth spurt. Now he asserts himself with every move, power rippling under his skin and justified confidence emanating from him like a tangible aura.

This is the way women see him, Izumi realizes. Tajima is no longer a scrawny, hyper boy of fifteen. He's grown to be a remarkably attractive man, and only someone who spent most of their time with him, day in and day out, would have failed to notice.

Although, quite obviously, a part of Izumi did pick up on it.

"It's a shame there's no time to find someone tonight," Tajima mourns aloud, which brings Izumi to the reality where fantasizing about a classmate and teammate is a bad thing. "I'd have to get Mizutani out of the room too, so it's not like..." He stops and turns to Izumi with an inquisitive look. "Hey," he says, having obviously come to a conclusion, "maybe I can ask him? Two birds with one stone!"

Izumi would seriously smack him on the head if the mental image didn't kind of make his head swim. "You can't just come up and ask someone something like that, you deranged pervert. Things like that don't happen in the real world." He really wishes his image of Tajima could go back to that of a boisterous and shockingly talented little brother, but now that he's seen him for how he is now, there's no going back.

"I can't know if I don't try," Tajima protests, and opens the door to his room.

Everyone is waiting there, cans and bottles and packs of chips spread over the floor and the beds alike; the atmosphere seems pretty lively.

"Finally!" Mizutani calls. "What were you doing?"

"Enjoying the view," Izumi snaps back, trying very hard not to notice how it makes Tajima grin. He grabs a can and plops down next to Mizutani just as the twit calls him an old man.

"You should try it," Tajima concurs, sitting on Mizutani's other side. "It's really pretty out there."

Mizutani shrugs, his shoulder bumping against Izumi's.

_Things like that don't really happen_, he reminds himself. Most likely, they'll all end up partying and reminiscing in this room and falling asleep on top of one another like they're still in training camp, and he'll be left with a solid new fantasy to toy with and never, ever talk about.

Then again, every boy has to learn that he'll never play in Koushien and everyone has to figure out that they'll never win the lottery. Tajima's involvement tends to make a dent on the nature of the universe, and judging by the way he's behaving, he might be planning on challenging reality this time, too.

This might yet devolve into a porn movie. Or not, but however it turns out, Izumi is definitely going to do his part.

He takes a sip of his energy drink and joins the conversation, leaning imperceptibly closer to Mizutani.


End file.
